Chapter 2
Wes
If I were being held at gunpoint, and the only way to save myself was to recite a song word for word, no mistakes, it would hands down be We Don’t Talk About Bruno.
The offending song blares through my house as I pack Lilah’s bag for her sleepover at my parents’ house.
Thankfully, I don’t need to pack much because my parents keep their home stocked as if my daughter was their own.
I toss her toothbrush into her backpack and make my way down the hall to her bedroom. I rummage through her dresser drawer to find the pajamas she specifically requested to wear tonight at her Nana and Papa’s.
Why does nothing stay folded?
I swear everything is neatly put away when I do her laundry, but sure enough, her drawers transform into a sea of tiny, tangled clothes.
I spot the pink dragon pajamas shoved in the back corner of the drawer and dig through the mess to get to them.
My heavily tattooed hand and arm are a sharp contrast to the plethora of pinks and purples.
Pajamas secured, I step over to Lilah’s bed and grab Burrito—her beloved stuffed dragon—and shove everything into her mini dragon backpack.
I turn on my heel toward the door and immediately trip over a very tall magnet block tower I somehow managed to avoid on the way in. The thing crumbles under me like a booby trap, and I stumble, struggling to gain my footing under the slippery plastic tiles.
I mercifully remain upright and leave the room, shutting the door behind me.
That’s future Wes’s problem. My boots thud against the dark hardwood floors as I stride into the living room, where Lilah is waiting by the front door, slipping her sock-covered feet into her rain boots.
It’s not raining, but apparently, that’s her footwear of choice today.
“Where is Miss Kayla?” she asks over the blaring song still playing on repeat, her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion.
“Miss Kayla moved away, remember?” I remind her gently.
Lilah’s nanny—well, former nanny—decided to go on the road with her musician boyfriend, leaving me without childcare. Kayla, the girl in her early twenties who’s been watching my daughter for the past year, gave me two days’ notice before leaving town, leaving me to scramble.
“Oh. Yeah.” She shrugs, taking the backpack from me. I guess I should be grateful for how unbothered she seems.
“Yay! Nana and Papa’s!” she shouts excitedly, yanking open the front door.
I shut off the music, grab my own bag for work, and chuckle. “Glad you’re excited, bug. Let’s go.”
We step off the porch and head toward my truck in the driveway.
“Hurry! You’ll be late for work!” My four-year-old scolds.
“I know the boss. I think I’ll be okay,” I chuckle. “Also, Nana and Papa live down the road. We couldn’t be late if we tried.”
I sit and watch patiently as little Miss Independent struggles to buckle herself into her booster seat. After a few minutes, she finally gets it, and I’m free to hop in myself.
We drive up the gravel road flanked by wooden fencing, leading toward my parents’ house. After only a few seconds, the big white farmhouse I grew up in comes into view. It sits on top of a grass covered hill, overlooking mine about a mile down.
I’m incredibly lucky to have my family so close by to help with Lilah.
We all live on the same property after all.
My parents bought this land when we were just kids, and as we got older, they sectioned it off so each of us got a piece.
My house is the closest to theirs. Sophie and Maverick live near each other a couple miles past mine, with Lincoln’s place being the furthest one out.
I throw the truck in park just outside my parents’ house, and Lilah lets herself out, running straight for the wrap-around porch where my mom and dad are waiting, arms open wide for their granddaughter.
“Nana! Papa!” Delilah squeals, jumping up and wrapping her arms around my moms neck in a tight embrace.
I slide out of the truck, grab the mini backpack she left behind, and join them on the porch. My chest tightens watching them. Knowing my mom is the only motherly figure my daughter has, I pray like hell she gets to have her for as many years as possible.
I wish Sarah could see how big our girl has gotten.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, shaking off the thought and leaning in to kiss her cheek. “Thanks for this. I’ll figure something out soon.”
She waves me off. “Don’t ever thank me for watching my grandbaby,” she replies, taking the bag from me. “Have a good night at work. We’ll see you in the morning.”
I thank her and my dad, then scoop Lilah up in a big hug and kiss her cheek. “Love you, bug. See you in the mornin’.”
“Love you, Daddy.” She kisses my cheek back. “Draw something badass,” she says innocently, like a four-year-old cursing is no big deal.
I’m going to kill Maverick.
“Delilah Mae!” My mother gasps while my dad chuckles.
“Don’t encourage it, Buck,” she grumbles.
“Sorry, Nana,” Lilah responds, tossing her head back in a fit of giggles.
“Language, Lilah,” I add, trying like hell not to laugh with her. “I’ll do my best,” I whisper in her ear, then set her down.
I wave goodbye, and watch my parents take her inside, then climb back into my truck, ready to start my night.
On my drive into town for work, my mind spins with everything I need to get done—appointments, payroll, supply orders, and the mountain of unread emails I know are waiting for me.
The familiar weight of my responsibilities settles in like it always does.
Being a single dad and running my own tattoo studio runs me ragged.
But I wouldn’t change it for the world, except maybe the single part, although I know I don't have time for that. I get to do what I love, and what I always dreamed of as a kid, so I can’t ask for much else.
Kayla started nannying for us a year ago after she graduated high school.
She was one of my mom's friend’s granddaughters, and was a nice enough kid.
Delilah liked her, and we never had any real issues.
I didn’t know much about her beyond who her grandma was and the fact that she had a hippie boyfriend she could talk about for hours if you let her.
She used to come in the mornings and stay until I got home in the late afternoon on weekdays.
Occasionally, she’d stay overnight with Lilah on the weekends when I had late appointments—like tonight—and wouldn’t be home until after midnight.
She’d sleep in the guest room next to Lilah’s, since there was no way I was letting her drive home that late, especially with how far out our place is out from town.
In reality, I know my parents could watch Delilah during the day, but I just can’t bring myself to put that on them.
They’ve already raised four capable, successful adults, they should get to enjoy being grandparents and not be forced back into the role of disciplinarians.
They deserve to spoil her, not parent her.
They’re retired now, excited to embrace their “Golden Era” as my mom likes to call it.
The idea of putting that on hold by asking them to take over childcare for Lilah just doesn't sit right with me.
I need to find a replacement, and fast. My schedule is completely booked for the next month, and it will be a huge pain in the ass if I have to start rescheduling.
Sometimes I just wish I had someone to share the weight with.
Grief creeps in as I think about Sarah. She was my best friend. Not the love of my life, but we still shared something real, friendship and a daughter. One night of too much tequila for two equally lonely people, led to incredibly uncomfortable sex, and eventually… two pink lines.
I rake a hand through my hair, the other still on the steering wheel. In the rearview mirror I notice it’s gotten longer than I usually keep it, the ends fall into my eyes as I try to smooth it back. Just one more thing to add to the to-do list.
————
I step through the heavy glass door and nod a hello to Jacob, our front desk guy, and the clients scattered around the waiting area. Without breaking stride, I head toward the back of the studio.
“What’s up, boss man?” Leo calls out over his large shoulder at me from his work station.
Leo’s a big dude. Covered in ink and bald by choice—I think. He’s in his forties and built like a damn house. If you didn’t know him, he’d scare the hell out of you. But the second he opens his mouth, you realize he’s just a giant teddy bear.
I glance over and see him working on the massive back piece we sketched out the other day. The detail is insane. It reminds me why I hired him.
I grunt in response, and he barks out a laugh.
“Sunshine and rainbows as always,” Leo replies, dipping his needle in ink and continuing his work.
“Nanny quit,” I mutter.
“Ouch. Sorry, man. Bring Lilah to work. She’d do better than Jacob.”
“Fuck off!” I hear Jacob yell from the front.
I roll my eyes and shake my head, looking up at the big neon sign blazing “Canyon Tattoo” in bright red, Old English font on the back wall.
I breeze through the door of my office and drop my stuff, pulling out my laptop and the camera I need to download photos from last weekend’s appointments.
The space isn’t huge, but it’s just big enough for the basics—a black acrylic desk and a comfortable rolling chair with solid lumbar support.
Apparently, being in your thirties means your back hurts all the time, so I spent an ungodly amount on an ugly ass chair.
Two chairs and a side table fill the corner space, centered on a Persian rug Sophie helped me pick out.
A small bookshelf lines the back wall, filled with helpful training materials for the artists.
Framed photos of past work and articles about the studio hang on the dark walls, giving the space a personal but professional touch.
I drop into my chair and start setting up my desk, determined to get as much work done as possible before my first appointment shows up in an hour.
I hear my phone chime with a text, and I pull it from my pocket to see it’s my sibling group chat.
Lincoln: Can someone please tell mom that she needs a new coffee maker? I have to shove a butter knife in the pod holder to get it to shut.
Sophie: Really? I use the incense stick on the windowsill. Try that next time.
Lincoln: Proving my point, Soph. But thanks. Told her she needs a new one this morning, and she said she’d feel guilty getting rid of it. Said it’s been with her through many milestones, including the birth of Lilah.
Sophie: Aww I didn’t even think about that. That little coffee maker has made us so much coffee. I’m with mom on this one, Linc. Sorry. :)
Maverick: Nah man, that thing is seasoned. I like it. The coffee maker stays. Get your lattes somewhere else. Unless you’re too much of a pussy to go into Creek Cafe. Is there a certain someone you’re avoiding?
Sophie: LOL
Lincoln: Fuck off.
Lincoln: Earth to Wes? Should we send out a search party? Are you with me on the new coffee machine or what? Mom and Dad could afford to buy a million of them, but were stuck hoping for a full 10oz out of a 6 year old hunk of plastic.
Wes: I make my own coffee at home because I’m a grown man. Soph, can you call me when you’ve got a minute? Need help finding a replacement for Kayla, if you don’t mind.
Maverick: Shots fired! 3 against 1, Linc. Nut up and go into the damn cafe. Also sorry, Wes. Heard the kid quit on you.
Lincoln Cooper has left the conversation
Sophie Cooper added Lincoln Cooper to the conversation
Sophie: Call you in a bit, Wes. Let me work my magic. :)
I shake my head and get back to work. I should really mute the group chats notifications if we’re going to keep arguing about a damn coffee machine.
I’m not surprised at all that our mom refuses to buy some fancy machine. Even though my parents are retired, they certainly aren’t hurting for cash, thanks to founding, growing, and eventually selling Cooper Construction. They built an incredibly successful business from the ground up.
We were never the spoiled rich kids you might expect with parents like ours. Not that they were always wealthy. The first ten years of building their company were tough. Some years were leaner than others, but by 2004, they had expanded to a national level.
They taught us the value of hard work, and because of them, we had a comfortable, grounded, childhood. But they certainly don’t bankroll our lives now. After college, we each got a piece of land on the property, but beyond that, we’ve been on our own.
Sophie’s ominous “work her magic” comment makes me nervous.
Between all of us, we pretty much know everyone in town, and off the top of my head, I’d say none of them are qualified to take care of my kid.
Maybe I’ll put an ad online. Just the thought of interviewing strangers to watch Lilah makes me feel like I’m about to break out in hives.
I can only hope, or pray to whatever god is out there, that I find someone reliable, fast.